It is the time of the year here in West Texas when the rattlesnakes start heading for the hills for their long winters nap. Almost every day on my commute to work, I see a snake or two crawling across the highway on their travels or having failed in their quest, I see them squished on the road. Yesterday after seeing a particularly large squished speciman, I couldn't help but be reminded of my old drinking bud, Greg.
One day, while riding around with my brother Dave and Greg, we came across a rattlesnake crossing the road. Like any good redneck we pulled over to kill the snake. I know it might not be politically correct and pisses off the PETA crowd but a loose venomous snake is one snake that might live to bite your ass in the future.
While Dave and I scrambled to find a weapon, Greg calmly walked up to the snake stepped on it's head and pulled the rattlers from it's tail and kicked him into the barditch. I didn't venture into the barditch to find out if the snake was dead or alive. If he was alive, I am sure he was one pissed off, rattlerless snake hellbent on biting the first redneck that crossed his path.
I do not know whether it was the liquid courage, bravery, or sheer stupidity that allowed him to pull off this feat but this was long before Steve Irwin and his Crocidile Hunter exploits. I suppose he was an ignorant redneck ahead of his time.